


So Cold in January

by vogue91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: His present, that year, was becoming once again a murderer.





	So Cold in January

_9 th of January, 1960 _

Eileen was cold.

It wasn’t because of the snow, of the weather, of the drafts coming from the window.

That coldness was inborn, as an inextinguishable sickness gripping on her, resolute in not letting her go.

She heard herself crying, but it was like the sound was muffled, as if her ears refused to hear it.

Her son was just born, and she was already demoralized for what was coming for both. Quite a foreseeable future, and still scary.

Tobies wasn’t going to care for his son, too busy educating his throat to rum, save on the moment the boy would’ve turned eleven.

There he would’ve decided if it was worth to call him ‘son’. She had eleven years of indifference and a life of despise in front of her, she was sure.

She found the strength to stand up and went in the other room. With an exasperating slowness she went closer to the cradle, staring at the baby, who had stopped crying and was now looking at her with his eyes wide.

Big, black eyes, bringing with them some sort of ancestral mournfulness, as if that gaze was written on his genes.

“I’m sorry.” she murmured, caressing his face with the back of her hand, just brushing it, as if she was afraid his skin might be burning.

Instead she found it frozen, like the rest of the room. Like her.

That kid was doomed, and she was the one to condemn him. Her mind crowded with ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ that didn’t have a reason to exist anymore. Her cowardice had brought her to reveal to her husband she was a witch only after getting married and pregnant, and now that tiny new born was going to pay the price.

“I should name you, you know?” she told him, with a tone that wanted to be comforting, but that resulted in yet another sign of her discouragement. The baby wasn’t moving a muscle, he let his eyes fixated in his mother’s, as if he wanted to catch her essence. Eileen felt stupidly uncomfortable under that look, as if he had already started weighing her guilt.

“Severus.” she said in the end with a sigh. The baby, neo named, held out his arms toward the woman, uncertain.

There were too many things Eileen would’ve liked to say and do.

In the end, her infinite discomfort prevailed. She left the room running, crying, leaving baby Severus abandoned in his cradle.

Prematurely, but something he would’ve grown accustomed to.

 

_9 th of January, 1975_

It was cold.   

But it was like Severus couldn’t feel it. During the years he had learnt to become immune to a certain amount of things, and cold was one of those.

 _Happy birthday to me_ he thought, sarcastic.

Not that he cared this much about his birthday. Just, he would’ve liked that for once that day could start and end without fights, without screaming.

That was the only present he would’ve liked, what he had desired since the day he had turned eleven.

He never got it.

He couldn’t remember the last birthday he had spent with his father sober. No, he couldn’t remember what was the last day Tobias Snape had spent sober.

At the beginning his mother used to cry, but it was years ago since she’s started to keep that granitic expression, pretending that her husband’s abuses and insults weren’t even touching her.

Severus still hadn’t learnt to play his part. He reacted, fuelling his the rage of his father. If he could be called that.

And why should he consider him a father, when he didn’t consider him a son?

Since he had arrived to Hogwarts, at least his birthday left him unscathed. He didn’t receive any letter or present, but at least he was miles away from the hell that was his home.

Only Lily still kept wishing him a happy birthday, always with a smile and a present. He’d never had the courage to tell her he hated that day with all his might for the memories it brought to his mind and, at times, for the mere fact of being born.

He wasn’t going to tell her, for he was the first to be ashamed of it. It was a sign of how much his life was anonymous and lacking of any sense.

He would’ve spent his time sleeping, only to wake up the day after. He would’ve liked to receive a letter from his mother, telling him he had nothing to worry about, that everything was okay, that she was happy.

He desired too many things, all unspoken and all unobtainable.

He knew that far away, in that place called home, his mother thought about him and about the day she had given birth to him.

And during the years, even though he knew she loved him, Severus had come to realize that the real reason why she never wished him a happy birthday, was that she regretted his birth.

Eileen understood him, loved him, and loved him so much as to desire he had never been born, so that he wouldn’t have been able to lead that life.

Or, at least, that’s what he liked to think.

 

_9 th of January, 1996_

“Happy birthday, Severus.”

He shivered, aware that cold wasn’t the real problem right now. He thought that wish completely redundant. Not after what he had asked him to do.

His present, that year, was becoming once again a murderer.

Had he been more lucid, he would’ve made some easy irony, thinking it was still the best present he ever received.

But he was tired, tired of all that display of opposing feelings pervading him since when 9th of January had become a day like the others. Dumbledore was the only one to still remember his birthday, but Severus usually didn’t mind it.

Not since when the only two people he had loved had abandoned him. And he felt like his birthday, already lacking much sense, was even less important without the woman who had given birth to him, whom had too soon found freedom in death.

Thirty-six years, and nothing that was actually his. He was born a pariah and that’s how he had lived his whole life, hiding from the world beyond a veil of indifference, hate and sarcasm. Severus Snape was a cold man, but it didn’t mean he was empty.

He would’ve killed Albus like he’d asked. Whether he liked it or not, he was the last person he had left, who had kept protecting him despite all his mistakes.

Severus had always thought that Albus Dumbledore, despite his chronological age, was actually much younger than him. Severus had never given much care to what was right or wrong, but he had come to realize that if justice truly existed, he was the one who should’ve died, not the old wizard that could still be useful to hundreds of people.

He didn’t think like that out of altruism, but just a vague sense of defeat that kept growing inside of him.

The world around him kept succumbing, as if death was having fun mocking him, leaving him more and more alone, more and more rejected.

“Happy birthday to you, Severus.” he said to himself, the same irony marking these wishes to himself. Another year had gone by, without touching time or space in its passing.

He was unchanged, and so he would’ve been until there were those early days of January reminding him of his fate.

He had nothing left to desire, he had given up on a normal life a long time ago. It wasn’t time to want, but to pray.

Pray that it would’ve soon be over, and he was finally allowed to live in a more peaceful place, where the people who had abandoned him wouldn’t have had a reason to do it anymore.

A place where, maybe, there would’ve actually been something to celebrate.


End file.
